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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28635024">Drabbles from Wayhaven (Niamh)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vakarians_girl/pseuds/vakarians_girl'>vakarians_girl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Friendship, Gen, One Shot Collection, Tumblr Prompts, prompt fics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:54:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,240</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28635024</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vakarians_girl/pseuds/vakarians_girl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots which began life as prompt fics from Tumblr. I've tried to keep them largely in chronological order, and these are all centered on my character Niamh O'Driscoll. Rating will likely change as I add more prompts.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Detective/Adam du Mortain, Niamh O'Driscoll/Adam du Mortain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Don't make me say something I'll regret.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>               The instant they left the office, Morgan pulled a cigarette from the pack in her pocket and lit it, silver lighter glinting as she brought it toward her lips. By the exit, Nate reached out and grabbed a newspaper with a smile and a nod toward the receptionist, who blinked, a stunned and dreamy look on his face. Farah stifled a laugh and elbowed Nate, but the older vampire took no heed, instead turning his attention to the paper as they walked out of the doors of the Wayhaven Chronicle. In contrast, Adam kept his shoulders straight, taut, and discomfort radiated off of him in waves.</p><p>               “Come on, Adam. Open up,” Morgan prodded after one deep drag of her cigarette. “I didn’t think you hated reporters this much.” He shot her a look, trying his best to keep his face impassive, stony, blank.</p><p>               “What do you mean?” Morgan chuckled a bit, smoke buffeting from her mouth in a lacy pattern with her breath.</p><p>               “You didn’t seem to mind her when we met her at the warehouse last night, is all. Was it finding out that she’s a reporter that did it in for you?” Now, Adam scowled. He turned away from Morgan and sped up his pace to match Nate’s, but Morgan was right behind him, ready to tease.</p><p>               “Do not make me say something I will regret, Morgan,” Adam warned. His words caught Nate’s eye, and the second-in-command looked up from the paper as he perused it, but said nothing.</p><p>               “Now,” Morgan held her cigarette between her lips as she reached an arm out, throwing it around Farah’s shoulder, “what on earth do you mean, captain?” Almost against his will, Adam clenched his jaw and sighed. Farah, picking up on the ribbing, joined in almost immediately.</p><p>               “He’s afraid he’s gonna say ‘I’ve never had someone that much smaller than me stand up to me while unarmed and wildly outnumbered before and it made me feel <em>alive</em>. Also, she’s pretty.’” A beat passed as Morgan looked down at Farah, as Nate turned his head to look at both of them, and Adam almost stopped walking, smacked in the face with incredulity. “What?” Farah shrugged, a steady grin on her face while Morgan stifled laughter. “I’m not wrong. And besides, now <em>you </em>don’t have to say it.” Morgan gave up stifling her glee and let out a sharp laugh, one very clearly at Adam’s expense. Frustrated, he pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply.</p><p>               “Morgan, Farah, Agent O’Driscoll wanted two of us to stay near Miss O’Driscoll at all times. I am putting you on duty. Make yourselves useful.” The two women exchanged glances, and then Farah gave Adam a mock salute before the two of them peeled off to sit in the shadows of the Wayhaven Chronicle’s offices and watch out for the reporter. A bit of peace finally reclaimed, Adam walked with Nate a bit in silence while his friend finished going through the newspaper. Grudgingly, Adam’s mind circled back to the lot outside of the warehouse the night before, to the way Agent O’Driscoll’s daughter had stood her ground in front of them all, unarmed, shorter even than Farah, small and unbelievably vulnerable. Determination had made her deep brown eyes hard, furrowed brows disrupted the freckles on her face. She’d been outnumbered, and she knew it, he could see it in her eyes. And she didn’t even know what they were. But still, she had dug her heels into the ground and called out: “<em>What is it that you want?”</em></p><p>               When Adam glanced over at Nate, trying to break free of the memories and thoughts, his friend was already watching him, a knowing expression on his face and tugging at the corners of his lips.</p><p>               “Do not look at me like that, Nathaniel.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Forget I even asked you.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>               The room was quiet, and Niamh thought she could feel Adam’s eyes on her, but every time she looked up at him, he was staring down at his Agency files. She still didn’t exactly understand why the Agency felt she, an investigative reporter, warranted the attachment of an entire team. And she knew even less why said team felt one of them had to be with her at all times. As she reviewed her latest story and her smattering of notes on the recent murders, she tried hard not to be distracted by Agent du Mortain sitting in a chair too small for him in the corner of her office.</p><p>               Eventually, she couldn’t help it. Niamh let out a puff of air, pulled at a thread on her jumper, and opened her mouth.</p><p>               “So does the Agency think that I’m…I mean, did you think that I wasn’t going to figure it out?” She watched as his already pale skin went icy white, his fists and shoulders suddenly pulled taut. He closed the file he held, setting it down on the little mica table in front of him. Niamh could see him clenching his jaw, and, bewildered, she noticed a vein jumping out on his forehead.</p><p>               “Figure what out, exactly, Miss O’Driscoll?” This was not at all the response she had been expecting. For a moment, she gaped like a fish, too confused by the sudden tension sliding off the agent in waves. His eyes were hard and brittle, two pale, sharp pieces of jade set in a marble face, and they bored straight into her. She swallowed, gathering herself, and scooched to sit a little straighter, weaving her fingers together on her desk.</p><p>               “That you know more about this case than you’re letting on.” Adam narrowed his eyes, and if Niamh didn’t know him better, she could have sworn she saw something close to fear writ across his features. So she was right. “I can feel you all—it’s not that you’re lying, but I can feel that you’re not telling me everything. So, what can I know?” His voice came out almost as a whisper, the trepidation another surprise to Niamh, especially when she caught the duct-taped corner of her desk at the edge of her vision.</p><p>               “What do you know?” Niamh nibbled on her lip. Adam had shown before that frustration came easily, but this quiet anxiety that he couldn’t seem to repress made her backpedal.</p><p>               “No, it’s fine. Forget I even asked you. It’s classified. I get it.” He raised a brow, leaning back in surprise—that was, coincidentally, when Niamh first noticed he had been leaning forward slowly as the moments passed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried.” Adam’s brow furrowed a bit, and he looked back down at the file in front of him.</p><p>               “No, I’m sorry. It’s natural to be curious and, I have to admit, I’m surprised by your perception. And your knack for figuring things out.” She snorted before she could help herself, and then shifted as his eyes shot back to hers.</p><p>               “Well, it’s just…it’s not as though you’re excellent at keeping secrets.” Her voice twisted under his gaze, the hint of her Irish brogue weaving its way through her vowels and consonants. “My desk, for instance. Quite a bad poker face on that one.” For a moment, she thought she’d gone too far, poked him a bit too much, but as Adam’s eyes tracked to the taped desk and Niamh’s breath caught in her chest, a smile flickered across his lips.</p><p>               “You’ve got me there, I suppose. Though I am sorry, if that helps.” He let out a chuckle and seemed to relax a touch, and Niamh chewed her next words before speaking.</p><p>               “I can’t say I won’t try to figure it out, about the Agency, I mean. I’m…unfortunately curious. It’s part of being an investigative reporter. But I do respect your privacy. And I will as long as you—the team, I mean—need me to.” She held her breath, waiting for his response. His expression was inscrutable for the longest minute, but eventually he nodded, and Niamh saw respect in his eyes. He seemed to ponder a bit before speaking, eyes guarded again, as though trying to figure out what he thought of Niamh. She hoped it wasn’t too bad. She hoped she wasn’t extra foolish for the way her stomach fluttered in his presence and the blush that rose to her cheeks when she greeted him in the mornings.</p><p>               “I—the team, that is, we—appreciate it.” A beat passed, silent, where Niamh, having met Adam’s eyes, couldn’t seem to look away. She kept waiting for him to turn, to pick up his file, to go back to work, to do anything, but he held her gaze, unblinking, and she felt a flush creeping up over her face. Unable to bear it any longer, she cleared her throat and fumbled about for her desk phone, punching in the number for Verda, her contact over in the forensics lab. “Important break in your story?” Adam asked as he, too, hurriedly reopened his file and resumed work.</p><p>               “Not really. I just thought—well, instead of interrogating you about your Agency, I might do a little prodding on the unusual blood I had Verda test, from the warehouse.” As the dial tone blared in her ear, she was almost certain she heard Adam groan.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. It isn't even morning.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>               Niamh’s breath fogged into a cloud about her face as she approached the offices of the paper. Despite the nearby end of winter, spring felt like a distant thought. One streetlamp lit the road, and Niamh fumbled in her bag for her set of keys to the building, the feeble electric rays doing little in the pre-dawn dark. Finally, her fingers clasped around her battered wooden keychain, and she pulled it out, the keys jangling on the ring. As she felt for the right key, she heard footsteps, light but solid, on the pavement behind her. Though the cold bit at her ungloved fingers, she hurried her search, fear prickling at her insides. That was, until she dropped her keys, reached down, and found a familiar hand already holding them.</p><p>               “Agent du Mortain?”</p><p>               “Miss O’Driscoll.” She shot back upright, and Adam rose up slowly, gracefully unfolding himself. “Your keychain,” he said, holding out a hand with the keys in its palm. With a shy smile, Niamh reached out and took them back, easily finding the right key without the spectre of fear behind her, though her hands still trembled a bit with the nearness of Adam.</p><p>               “Th-thank you.” She unlocked the door and pulled it open, yanking slightly so it moved past the point on the doorframe where it stuck. Once inside, she glanced back at Adam, eyes questioning. “Would, er, would you like to come inside? It’s awfully cold, um, out there.” He hesitated slightly, but then nodded, stepping into the entryway of the building as Niamh turned to flick on the lights.</p><p>               Fluorescence illuminated the room, starkly outlining the reception desk and the bland furniture. As Niamh moved to the hallway back towards her office, she paused, looking back at Adam. He looked remarkably out of place, and a little uncomfortable, but mostly handsome, and she looked away awkwardly, blushing slightly.</p><p>               “You, um, you can come over to my office, you know. You don’t need to stand out here.” She yawned slightly, drawing her hand to her mouth, and walked over to her office door, ready to turn on the teakettle on her counter. As she slid her trench coat from her shoulders and hung it over the back of her chair, Niamh half expected Adam to stay in the lobby, or leave, but instead when she looked up, he was there in her office. She ventured a soft, awkward smile, motioning to the table the team had used the last time they were there, and the seat that Adam usually took. “Chair’s ready for you, and all that.” Adam slowly took off his own coat, hanging it on a hook by the door and pulling a paper file from a large pocket inside it. But before he sat down, he shot a glance at the clock Niamh kept on top of her filing cabinet.</p><p>               “What exactly are you doing here?” he asked, a puzzled expression on his face as Niamh dumped a large bottle of water into the electric kettle and flipped it on to boil.</p><p>               “I wanted to work a bit.”</p><p>               “It’s not even morning yet.” Another glance at the clock. “It’s four am. Do other reporters usually show up this early?” Niamh chuckled in response, sliding open her bottom desk drawer to pull out two mugs, but at the same time, she wondered how to answer.</p><p>               “Tea?” she asked, holding one up and meeting Adam’s eyes instead of responding to the question. He nodded, still puzzled, and Niamh pulled out one bag of Earl Grey for her own mug before placing her box of assorted teabags in front of him and grabbing two spoons. She chewed her lip, trying to choose her words carefully. “To answer your question,” she said, watching the kettle as it approached a boil with a wheeze, “no, I’m usually the only one here this early. And no, it isn’t morning.” She looked down at her fingers and picked at a thread sticking out from the sleeve of her jumper. On the one hand, she felt the same old shyness creeping back, the insistent voice that told her that neither Adam nor anyone else would want to hear this. On the other, it felt easy and soft to be there with him, like this. He felt like a friend. He felt like he cared, despite the cold exterior he put up. She let the dam break, and the words came out in a rush, frantic and embarrassed. “Sometimes I just…I get ideas, and then they bounce around, and they keep bouncing, and as they do, they get louder, and then I can’t sleep. And it makes more sense to come here and write than sit in bed waiting for them to turn quiet.” She turned back to Adam to see him delicately opening the paper around a bag of chamomile tea and dropping it into the beat-up mug she had provided. His silence made her blush, made her feel that she had overshared, overstepped, gone too far. She backpedaled. “But, really, I could ask the same of you. Why aren’t you asleep? Why are you here?”</p><p>               The kettle bubbled to a crescendo and clicked off, and Niamh pulled it clumsily from its base and filled the two mugs, setting Adam’s down in front of him, next to his spoon. He reached out and took it, stirring the bag around as he thought about his answer.</p><p>               “I’m running a night shift. Looking for clues around town.” Niamh raised her eyebrows at him, stirring her own mug of tea as she leaned back against her desk.</p><p>               “Remember when I said you weren’t good at keeping secrets?” she asked, eyes cast downwards. Adam snorted.</p><p>               “Point taken. Alright, then. I…I can’t sleep, either.” His face was a mask of tight lines, and as Niamh looked, really looked, she saw the hint of exhaustion behind his features. He pulled the bag of tea from his cup and set it on the spoon before taking a sip. As he drank, he closed his eyes and knotted his brows. It was as though he had to take his time on that single sip, lest he be lost in it. Niamh watched him, watched as the faint steam from the mug curled around his features, watched as he swallowed, and took another sip. At last, he opened his eyes, sighed, and set the mug down. “I can’t sleep, and walking, working, helps pass the time.” He seemed so truthful, oddly vulnerable, in this moment, and Niamh hardly breathed for fear she would disrupt it, would destroy this moment of kinship and company.</p><p>               “Have you ever tried reading?” Her voice was quieter than she expected, and she covered it by taking a sip of her tea, strong now with the nearly forgotten teabag. There was a slight pause while she fished it out and dropped it in the wastebin, and then looked back up at Adam. He had a slightly incredulous smirk on his face, one that made Niamh worry she had upset him. “What? What did I do?” Out of habit, she felt the panic begin to spiral, raking her mind over for the words that might have been the wrong ones, and she felt the prickle of anxiety on the back of her neck. But when Adam gave a light chuckle, one that she could have almost mistaken for a sigh, she looked back at him to find him still smiling.</p><p>               “Have I tried?  Reading? Miss O’Driscoll, I do not mean to offend you, but I have, indeed, tried reading.” As the words made their way into her mind, Niamh blushed and pulled the neck of her jumper up over her face.</p><p>               “Yes. Yes, that’s…well. What I meant was, have you tried reading something you know? Something you’ve read before, that—that brings you comfort?” Adam’s expression, when she dared to look, had shifted to one of thoughtfulness as he considered her words. She felt emboldened, if only slightly, and continued, dropping her turtleneck and smoothing out her jumper. “It doesn’t always work, but, it does help.” As Niamh finished speaking, Adam looked up at her. His eyes were softer, friendlier. More open.</p><p>               “I appreciate the advice, Miss O’Driscoll.” He let a beat pass, and then spoke again. “Is there a book you would suggest?”</p><p>               “I—well, I mean, it will be different for you, I’m sure, because it has to be something you’re familiar with, but, um, I read Beowulf.” Embarrassed again, she rubbed her thumbs over the surface of her mug, fingers seeking for something to do, somewhere to expend energy. Instead of the cringing response she expected, Niamh was greeted with a smile.</p><p>               “I know it well,” Adam said. And just like that, her embarrassment was gone. She stood a little straighter, enthusiasm in her features.</p><p>               “Which translation do you prefer? Growing up my grandparents read me Porter’s, but I prefer Heaney’s 1999 translation. But I do love the organic feeling of Tolkien’s. Klaeber’s is good, too. And there’s so many others, of course.” Niamh realized her voice had grown louder, and she cleared her throat and looked down. “Sorry. I, um, I really do like Beowulf.” Another faint smile from Adam, this time one that felt like the most natural thing in the world.</p><p>               “I can tell. As far as a translation, I don’t think I have one that I prefer.” There seemed to be something on the other end of those words, but Adam changed the subject. “The tale itself is enough, I think, no matter the words. But I will give it a try, the next time sleep is elusive.” He paused, looked down at his tea, and then reached for his forgotten folder. “Perhaps, for a while, I could work here? With you?”</p><p>               “Of course.” Niamh smiled, just a touch, and as she did, their gazes grazed together and over each other. Her jumper suddenly felt warm, and she coughed and turned, taking another sip of tea as she moved toward her chair and her desk. In her throat, she could feel the excitement of not being shoved aside, of being listened to. Maybe, she mused as she opened up her last story, setting her tea down to begin working, having Unit Bravo around wouldn’t be so bad.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Why didn't you tell me?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>               “Why didn’t you tell me?” Farah’s voice made Niamh freeze. It seemed playful, but it also held…a hint of accusation? She turned toward her friend, standing in the doorway of Niamh’s office at the newspaper headquarters. Farah was smiling, which was a good sign, but not leaning against the frame of the door, which was mildly bad. She held both hands behind her back, standing straight upright.</p><p>               “Tell you what?” A thousand things ran through Niamh’s mind. <em>I don't keep things from Farah. I'm a horrid liar, and besides, keeping secrets feels wrong. So what on earth did I neglect to tell Farah?</em></p><p>               “Your birthday, Niamh!” The tension in Farah’s stance broke as she brought her hands around her front, revealing a bouquet of bright yellow roses and a (clearly) hand-wrapped present. Feeling her face heat, Niamh hurried to her feet and rushed to pull Farah into the office, quickly shutting the door behind her. “What’s wrong? Do you not want people to know about your birthday?” Confusion crossed Farah’s face, and she set the gifts down on a filing cabinet, eyebrows knotted. “I’m sorry, Niamh, I just—”</p><p>               “No, no no! It isn’t you, Farah.” Niamh leaned back against her desk, unsure of what to say. “It’s just…habit.”</p><p>               “What do you mean?” Niamh sighed a bit, rubbing her hands over her arms and chewing her lip. It was a silly issue, it really was. But despite her misgivings, she knew that she could trust Farah, who had quickly become one of her closest friends. Drumming her fingers against her body, she made her decision and began to speak.</p><p>               “I used to have to remind Rebecca—my mom—about my birthday all the time when I was younger.” A swallow and a breath, and Niamh continued, avoiding Farah’s gaze. “She’d be away with the Agency so much, she’d forget dates. Anniversaries, birthdays, you name it. And the thing was, she always got so guilty. She’d buy me all these presents, all so expensive. And I could always feel that it wasn’t really because she wanted to, but she felt like she had to. Or, at least, that’s how it came across. I don’t know. I was young. Maybe I just put too much on her.” Farah took a step closer, a small frown on her face, and rested a hand on Niamh’s arm. “So I just…get a little weird about it. I know other people probably won’t feel guilty like that, it’s just…”</p><p>               “It’s scary that they might, instead of celebrating you.” Niamh noded, and Farah reached out and hugged her so tightly, she had to smile. Leaning into the hug, Farah rocked back and forth, moving from one foot to the other and pulling Niamh with her. The simple motion and evident care turned Niamh’s smile into a full-blown laugh. The two of them stood there, hugging like that for a few minutes, Niamh laughing into Farah’s shoulder, before Farah stepped back. “It’s nice to hug someone shorter than me for a change, Niamhy. But more important?” Farah’s voice went serious and soft, almost the voice of family rather than friend. She put both hands on Niamh’s arms, framing her body as she spoke. “I want to celebrate you. You’re one of the first people, let alone humans, who has cared to continue working with me after you found out what I was. You’re my best friend, Niamhy.”</p><p>               A long, quiet moment passed before Niamh reached out to hug Farah again.</p><p>               “Thank you, Farah.” She looked over at the gifts sitting on the filing cabinet, eventually jerking her head in their direction. “So, what did you get?” Farah’s smile seemed to rival the sun as she bounded the few steps over to the bouquet and the gift and brought them back.</p><p>               “Yellow roses, for friendship.” She thrust the bouquet into Niamh’s arms, beaming. “And I can’t tell you until you open it.” The box was small, wrapped in brightly zig-zagged blue and yellow paper, and Niamh tore it open—largely to gratify Farah, who seemed delighted at the energetic ripping. A small lump rose in Niamh’s throat as she uncovered a jewelry box, and it grew larger as she opened it. She ran a finger over the small silver pendant, circular, with the line of a crescent moon engraved across it. It looked almost like one of the moons from Niamh’s Agency card, and that must have been why Farah gave it to her.</p><p>              “Farah, it’s beautiful.” No other words came to her. She couldn't say anything else. She just pulled her friend in for a hug and then fastened the thin embellished chain around the neck of her jumper. “Maybe it isn’t so bad you know about my birthday.”</p><p>               “Well…what about three other vampires?” With a mischievous grin, Farah backed up to the door to the office. Niamh could already tell where this was headed, and she groaned, but only halfheartedly. Her smile belied the sound. And as Farah threw the door open to reveal the rest of Unit Bravo, Niamh was intensely grateful for her friend.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. "Gasp!" "You know most people just gasp, they don't audibly say 'gasp'."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>               “So there are five cases as opposed to three?”</p><p>               “Yes. Nominative, dative, accusative, genitive, and instrumental.”</p><p>               “The declension sounds…complicated.”</p><p>               “Well, yes. But—”</p><p>               “So you’re saying translation is going to take a while.”</p><p>               “Yes.”</p><p>               “Do you think you could…just…read the beginning? Again? I like hearing you say it.” Niamh sat at a table in the Agency library, chin resting on her hand. Next to her, Adam sat, back straight, and between the two of them were three battered books, held open by the weight of their own spines, a notebook, and a smattering of sticky notes. Adam sighed, but there was the hint of a smile in his eyes.</p><p>               “If you wanted language lessons, why did you not go to Nate?” Niamh pouted a bit at the question, narrowing her eyes at Adam’s avoidance. She shifted on her hand, picking up a pencil with her other and pointing it accusingly at him.</p><p>               “You know Nate doesn’t speak Old English.” Another sigh from Adam, and he relented, though Niamh knew he would have anyway. She smiled a bit, and then looked down at Adam’s hands, splayed out on the books, so close to her own, and blushed.</p><p>               “Very well.” He took one of the two larger books, the oldest looking one, and gingerly turned the pages back to the beginning, and then cleared his throat and began to speak. “Hwæt. We Gardena in geardagum, þeodcyninga, þrym gefrunon, hu ða æþelingas ellen fremedon. Oft Scyld Scefing sceaþena þreatum, monegum—" The door burst open and both of them whirled around with a start, where they were met with the sight of Farah. She looked them up and down, glanced at the books on the table, the scattered notes, and then back at Adam and Niamh. A wide smile spread across her face as she waltzed over to the table.</p><p>               “Gasp! What have we here? Commanding Agent Adam du Mortain, at a book club with a friend?” As she spoke, she plopped herself down on an empty chair and threw an arm around a violently blushing Niamh, who pulled up the neck of her shirt and shrunk into her shoulders, like a turtle.</p><p>               “You know,” Adam said dryly, eyes down on the book in front of him, “most people just gasp, they don’t audibly say ‘gasp’.”</p><p>               “Learn that in in the last 900 years, did you?” Farah’s grin was as bright as sunshine, teeth glinting merrily against pretty lips. Adam stiffened, and Niamh could see him trying very, very hard not to snap at the younger agent. Niamh, on the other hand, let out one short laugh and then covered her mouth, eyes wide. “See! Niamhy thought it was funny! Anyway. Two friends at book club. Two pals. Companions. Amigos—”</p><p>               “Farah.”  Adam’s reprimand was sharp, and Farah responded by widening her grin and raising her hands in front of her.</p><p>               “Hey, chief, I just call them as I see them. But if you won’t answer, maybe Niamhy will! Whatcha reading?”</p><p>               “Um, well, he’s teaching me Old English.” Farah picked up the smallest book and closed it to look at the title.</p><p>               “Beowulf? Adam, isn’t this your fa—”</p><p>               “Farah,” Adam’s warning had a bit more desperation in it, and this time, Farah grinned, but eased off.</p><p>               “Fine, fine. I can see I’m interrupting precious nerd time. I’ll be down at the track, Niamhy, if you get bored. See ya!” Moving like a whirlwind, Farah left with as much energy as she had entered the room. Niamh smiled after her friend, but then something grabbed her mind and pulled her back to face Adam. She hesitated a bit, the easy exchange of just a few moments earlier suddenly a minefield again. Next to her, Adam was as gorgeous and unapproachable as ever once more, and she felt so small and insignificant beside him.</p><p>               “You never said that Beowulf was your favorite book, too.” Her voice was quiet, a tiptoe into the minefield between them. Adam shifted and looked back down at the book, at the illuminated manuscript that Niamh suddenly realized was—</p><p>               “This is my copy,” he said with a soft smile. “It’s been a companion for—well, for a very long time. And yes, since Farah spilled the beans, as they say. It is my favorite.” Niamh stayed silent for a moment, watching the way Adam held the book, fingers delicate against its covers. When she looked back up at Adam, she saw the faint smile she was getting so used to, and felt her stomach jump. “Well? Shall I continue? Now that the interruption has passed.” Niamh’s heart joined in with the acrobatics, and, a little breathlessly, she replied.</p><p>               “I’d love that.” And with that, Adam cleared his throat and began to read again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know N is the language one. But. Consider. Old English sound seksy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Cross that. Don't answer that.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>               A week had passed since the showdown with Murphy at the warehouse. Niamh’s recovery room at the Agency had rapidly grown small and boring, and she was eternally grateful to Farah for bringing her a bag of books and her phone charger from her apartment. Though she spent much of her time asleep, thanks to a combination of her medications and the sheer exhaustion of the whole ordeal, she had made her way through two of the four books stacked on the side table. She’d even deleted about five emails from Bobby asking to take over her story, though only after reading them and making sure their boss knew that under no circumstances was Bobby Marks to take her scoop. But two books and a number of work-related emails weren’t exactly enough to keep the loneliness at bay.</p><p>               So, when Adam knocked lightly on the door and peered in, Niamh’s heart skipped doubly.</p><p>               “May I come in, Mi—Niamh?” She nodded, setting aside her book of Heaney poems and motioning to the chair by the bed. More than anything, she wanted to be able to say something soft and witty, something to make Adam smile, but she found her voice stuck in her throat. The best she could muster was a sort of choked greeting.</p><p>               “It’s good to be seeing you,” she said, and then immediately bit her lip. <em>It’s good to be seeing you? It’s good to see you. Just speak normally.</em> Adam nodded, mouth quirked slightly up, and then Niamh just had to dig herself in deeper with more stilted small talk. “I’ve noticed the weather has been really nice lately, hardly any rain.” <em>He knows, you absolute eejit. You’re the one who isn’t supposed to disconnect yourself from all these stupid monitors. He can go outside whenever he wants</em>. To her surprise, though, the smile she so craved stretched across his features, and Adam dropped down into the chair.</p><p>               “I can imagine it’s a bit isolating, only seeing it through the window.” Thank god. He didn’t seem to think she was completely mental. “Or was that an attempt at the ‘so how about that weather’ saying I’ve heard so much about?” Niamh found herself smiling and rolling her eyes in spite of herself, twisting the sheets beneath her fingers.</p><p>               “Ha-ha. Very funny, Agent du Mortain. No, I really was trying to ask about the weather. It’s gotten a bit boring inside.” Adam’s eyes felt as though they were drilling into her, as though he could see the unsaid words of loneliness and anxiety. He looked at the stack of books, at the bookmark peeking out of book number three, and the deflating balloons Farah had brought. She could see the gears spinning in his head, and hurried to defend the rest of Unit Bravo. “Farah’s visited, she doesn’t always leave things. And she texts when she can’t make it. And Nate’s been by, too, and even Morgan. It’s just—” Niamh’s eyes landed on the wilting vase of flowers at the same time as Adam’s, and she abruptly stopped speaking.</p><p>               “And Agent O’Driscoll?” The question hung in the air, and Niamh looked down.</p><p>               “Rebecca—mum—hasn’t been since the debriefing. She sent me those flowers a few days ago, but I—I guess they’re keeping her busy.” Adam seemed to bristle for a moment, and Niamh felt a strange sort of vindication. Though she had been trying to smooth things over with her mother, Rebecca hadn’t exactly made it easy. The push-pull of the relationship was grating on her, and though she knew Nate meant well when he encouraged Niamh to patch things up, it was nice to just feel Adam’s indignation on her behalf. To know he could see the effort she was putting in, and could understand the pain it felt to have that effort not met. “But that’s ok, really. You’re here now.”</p><p>               “I’m sorry I didn’t visit sooner, Niamh. There’s been too much to deal with after the warehouse. I’m glad Farah’s been able to make it, though she has been telling me that she’s going on ‘very important reconnaissance missions to which you are not privy, Mr. Boss Man,’ so perhaps we’ll have a chat about that.” Niamh reached out a hand, bending to grab Adam’s arm.</p><p>               “Oh no, please—don’t be too hard on her. She is doing reconnaissance.” He raised an eyebrow, and Niamh felt the mask cracking. If she didn’t say it immediately, she’d start laughing. “There’s a bird outside the window she watches for me. Very serious stuff.” Adam’s lips twitched, and he closed his eyes, though Niamh could see that he was trying not to roll them. She let out a soft giggle. This was easy. This was comfortable. This was what she had seen behind the stoic veneer, all those weeks ago when Adam had walked into her office at the paper. He made her feel relaxed, at home. Less lonely.</p><p>               But something tickled at the back of her mind, insistent and heavy. Her giggle fell away, and she pulled back her hand, unable to think about anything else now that that thought had entered her mind. In response, Adam shifted in his seat, moving closer to her.</p><p>               “What is it? Is something wrong?” Back to chewing on her lip, Niamh considered. She felt as though she had to ask the question, had to know, but she didn’t want to put him on the spot. “You have a question.” She looked up at him, and though his face was largely placid, she could see worry behind his eyes. He knew. She had to ask now. She took in a deep breath and pulled her knees in, wrapping her arms around them and concentrating on a spot at the far side of the room.</p><p>               “Back at the warehouse,” she started, words slow, “there was a moment where—I mean—it seemed—” Niamh struggled with the words, finding them tangled and knotted on her tongue, and she stopped speaking, letting them sit before she began again. “My blood is dangerous now. If…if you’d had to…get rid of me, to keep Murphy from getting at it, if you’d had the chance, would you?” Finally, she looked at him, not sure at all what to expect. She found a face still as a statue, almost professionally blank. Seconds passed, and then a minute, and her heart dropped. That was all she needed. That had to be his answer. He would have. He was only trying to find some way to tell her without hurting her feelings too badly. He never felt anything for her.</p><p>               Niamh felt tears stinging at the backs of her eyes and aching in the bend of her throat. She turned away again, face back towards the window, and spoke.</p><p>               “It’s okay. Cross that. Don’t answer that. It’s not necessary.” She hated how her voice trembled, how close the tears were to flowing over. “I’m sure you have a lot to d—”</p><p>               “Niamh.” His voice was soft, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “<em>Niamh</em>.” More insistent, now, but still soft, and she knew she had to turn to face him. She did so, hair falling across her brow with the motion. What she saw confused her, stopped her heart and stilled her breath. Adam’s hands were clenched in his lap, knuckles stark white, every vein and tendon in sharp relief. Something like anguish lurked in the depths of his eyes, difficult to see beneath knotted and furrowed brows, and his lips were slightly parted as he stared at the bandage on Niamh’s neck. “I would never. I—it—” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and in a strangely frantic motion, he ran a hand over his hair, ending up with it gripping the back of his head. Seeming as though he could no longer sit still, he suddenly pushed the chair back with such force it toppled over, standing to pace back and forth. Finally, he stopped, and turned back to Niamh. His eyes were endless green depths, and they looked like the eyes of a caged and wounded animal, forced to consider a burdensome future. “Niamh, I would never hurt you. I could never—it would be like ripping out a part of me.” Again, her breath caught as, now crouched by the side of the bed, Adam reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and then moved his hand just over Murphy’s bite and the bandage covering it. His eyes found hers, and Niamh couldn’t look away. “I would sooner he take me apart, piece by piece, than destroy you to keep you from him.”</p><p>               The moment hung at a standstill, the barest ghost of Adam’s touch just a hair away from Niamh’s skin. She longed to say something, anything, to tell him, to have the courage. But then the moment ended, and Adam pulled away, clearing his throat.</p><p>               “I’m sorry, Miss O’Driscoll. I know you still need to heal. You should rest.” He righted the chair and turned towards the door.</p><p>               “Adam, wait—” Her words stopped him in his tracks, but his turn to face her was hesitant, filled with a kind of trepidation that surprised Niamh. “Will you come again? Farah’s lovely. She’s wonderful. And so’s Nate, and even Morgan’s been so good but—I like it when you’re here.” A beat passed, and Adam inclined his head.</p><p>               “As you wish. It would be my pleasure.” And then he was gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Aren't we supposed to be working?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>               “Aren’t we supposed to be working?” The words slipped from her mouth, nervous and almost silent, as Adam pulled her chair away from the library table, wheels rolling loudly across the floor.</p><p>               “This is work.” His voice was curt and clipped, as beautiful and disarming as ever, and it made her even more nervous.</p><p>               “I’m never going to be caught up with the Agency,” Niamh groaned as Adam yanked her notebook away from her, shutting the folders and books spread out around her with mindboggling speed.</p><p>               “You’re the one who agreed to combat training. And you’re also the one who’s been avoiding it.” That got the blush going, big blotches of it across Niamh’s freckled cheeks. She hadn’t been avoiding the combat training, exactly, but she had been avoiding combat training with him, so he wasn’t exactly wrong. The words she had overheard spoken between Adam and Nate rung, deafening, in her ears every time she thought about that first training session, and she felt like such a fool for having been overwhelmed with the nearness of him, so close to her own skin. But then after the way he had been at the carnival—</p><p>               “I thought you were too busy.” She chewed her lip as she yanked her turtleneck up over her face, trying to hide the neon embarrassment spreading across it.  </p><p>               “That’s an excuse. Ten pushups.” Niamh dropped the neck of her jumper and stared, dumbfounded at him.</p><p>               “What? You can’t be serious.” She glanced around, hoping that Farah might have come to collect her early for once, but found herself out of luck. “I can’t do that with my sweater on.”</p><p>               “You’ve got a shirt underneath,” Adam said, reading over the notes she’d been working on about the various Agency species before this strange interruption. What had gotten into him? Tension seemed to roll off his shoulders in waves, and she suddenly clocked that this must have to do with the mission to find Sanja. It was tonight. Sighing, Niamh willed the blush to stop, and then pushed herself up and off of the chair. She took a deep, steadying breath, and glanced at Adam, who was still pointedly ignoring her, and pulled her jumper up over her head.</p><p>               The knit briefly caught on her glasses, and when she finally pulled it off, hair mussed and glasses slightly crooked, she caught Adam’s swiftly moving gaze. Swiftly moving away from her. She couldn’t look at him, and instead shook out the jumoer and straightened the camisole she wore underneath. She felt vulnerable like this, her flat chest and lack of curves exposed as they were without the thick wool she thought of as her armor. But she couldn’t let him see. Instead, she breathed in deeply again and dropped to the floor.</p><p>               “I don’t understand how this is supposed to help.” But she did the pushups anyway, muscles  already starting to protest by the time she’d reached the last one.</p><p>               “In a combat situation, when a team member tells you to do something, you do it. You listen to them until you can anticipate what they’re going to say. You follow their lead and watch their back, so that you can trust they’ll watch yours.” She glanced up at him. “Ten more pushups.” He had stopped looking at the notebook now, and with the icy green intensity of his gaze focused entirely on her now, Niamh wished he’d go back to it. But again, she did the pushups anyway.</p><p>               “I thought,’’ she panted, teeth gritting on pushup 17, “combat training would involve, you know, combat. Like last time.” Thankfully her cheeks were already flushed from the exertion, though it did embarrass her a bit. She really needed to work out more.</p><p>               “Sometimes.” The silence and hesitation in his voice made her think he was trying to come up with an excuse, an explanation, anything. “We’ve been a team a long time though. You’ve got a lot to learn about combat that isn’t just about the moves. You need to learn how to understand what your team is doing before they do it.”</p><p>               “And how will this help?” Niamh couldn’t help the exasperation in her voice. She could tell he was taking out his stress on her by making her do these pointless pushups. She resented it. She wanted him to just talk to her. How many times had they been so close to something, only for him to bottle it up and  tuck it back away?</p><p>               “Ten more.” She frowned. But she listened. Her feet slipped slightly, bare treads of her converse not exactly suited for gripping the floor, but she did them.</p><p>               “Now will you tell me why?” He shook his head and opened his mouth, but she interrupted him. “You want ten more. I got it.” The man was inscrutable, but at least she was starting to be able to read him, even if it was only a little bit. After the fortieth pushup, Niamh rocked back onto her knees and knelt there, panting and trying not to glare at Adam.</p><p>               “Learning to listen is a vital part of combat.” He dropped her notebook back on the table and left, leaving her just as confused as she had been before. It was only later that night,  when he screamed at her to save Sanja, that she understood.</p><p>               He knew. He had to.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. But did you do it?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>               The air in Haley’s Bakery smelt of fresh bread and coffee, a hint of sugar lingering on the back of Niamh’s tongue as she inhaled. It was peaceful, as it always had been. Just what she needed after a long night of sleepless thoughts. And though she would never admit it, having Tina sitting next to her, chattering away and exuding energy, made the peace more friendly.</p><p>               “But enough about that.” Tina idly stirred her coffee, light twinkling sounds coming from the collision of her spoon against the stoneware mug. “Did you do it?” The question pulled Niamh out of her sleepy reverie, and she looked over at Tina with a spot of confusion on her face.</p><p>               “Do what?” With the way Tina rolled her eyes, Niamh was almost certain her friend was going to lose one. Miraculously, though, both hazel brown eyes remained within the woman’s face.</p><p>               “After the carnival,” Tina spoke slowly, enunciating the words with a little too much emphasis and a mischievous grin on her face that gave the joke away to Niamh. “Did you tell Agent Marble-Statue about your <em>feelings?</em>” Niamh lifted her mug of tea to her face, hoping the hot, fragrant steam would cover up the blush spreading rapidly across her whole face. Instead, she was left with foggy glasses and a snickering Tina.</p><p>               “Oh. Well, the timing didn’t feel right for a while, and I didn’t want to rush anything.”</p><p>               “So you haven’t?” She waggled her eyebrows at Niamh, leaning closer over her pastry.</p><p>               “We talked the other night. The team have all been very busy. And I’m working on this new story about—”</p><p>               “<em>But did you do it</em>?” Tina’s voice was full of exasperation, and Niamh shrunk into her shoulders, pulling her turtleneck up over her nose. That was all Tina needed to see, and she let out a sigh. “Niamhy, you’re going to have to say something eventually. Unless, of course, you plan to stay silent forever and never do anything about it. I guess that could work, too. If he lives forever, he’ll have to realize sometime.” As Niamh mulled over how to respond, her mind spinning without traction, Tina’s phone buzzed. “Well, Niamhy, the job calls. Being a city councilwoman isn’t all fun and games.” Quickly, Tina tossed back the sugary dregs of her coffee and scarfed the last two bites of her pastry, giving Niamh a pat on the shoulder as she stood up. “Keep it in mind, though. He may live forever, but you won’t, Niamh.” The parting words were gentle, more serious than expected, and they made Niamh chew her bottom lip, lost in thought.</p><p>               The bell atop the door tinkled as Tina left, but Niamh didn't watch her go. She knew her friend was right. She really did. And she’d been close to doing it, to telling Adam how she feels, so many times. With a groan, Niamh set down her mug of tea and slid her hands up her face, pushing them under her glasses. Her phone dinged with a text, and she pulled her hands down to glance at it, before chuckling lightly. Of course Tina would.</p><p>               <em>Do it soon, I need more to tease you about. </em></p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. That's not what love is.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Alternative title for this chapter: therapy is expensive, but writing fanfiction is free. </p><p>In all seriousness, though, content warning ahead for discussions of manipulative/emotionally abusive ex-partner. I'd also like to say that this is by no means meant to be a 'canon' interpretation of Bobby, and I definitely don't judge anyone harshly who may be a Bobby-mancer. Bobby isn't even like this for all my other MCs, and I believe fully that they're a character you can play with as you so choose. This is just my interpretation of Bobby in one 'world state', based on the individual growth of this specific character.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>               Combat practice resumed quickly after the failed envoy, mostly at Adam’s insistence. On the one hand, Niamh thought there was something in the way he had stood, arms folded and fists clenched, something in the tilt of his voice that said he had been worried about her out there. But on the other hand, that meant nothing more than that he cared for a friend. Even so, she had agreed—though, had she known she would be spending an infernally hot Saturday sparring in the woods near the warehouse, forced to wear just a sports bra and shorts by the heat, she would have put up much more of a fight.</p><p>               “How much longer do we have to do this?” Niamh asked, throwing a swift punch towards Adam’s side. Which he deflected. Sweat and humidity collected on every inch of her skin, plastering flyaway wisps of hair to her neck and face and forehead. Leaflitter from the forest floor clung to her skin where she had fallen, glued on by the moisture. She felt rank, she felt ugly, and she felt grumpy.</p><p>               “We only started half an hour ago.” Adam, on the other hand, appeared to be enjoying himself. A few drops of sweat added a slight sheen to the skin of his forehead and chest, but other than that, he looked completely unbothered.</p><p>               “Are you serious?”</p><p>               “Completely.” She stepped back and groaned, wiping a wrapped hand across her forehead.</p><p>               “How do you spend so much time doing this?” Adam thought for a moment, and then spoke.</p><p>               “Talking helps the time pass.” Niamh let out a bark of laughter.</p><p>               “When you have the breath for it, I guess it does.” Adam shrugged and dropped back into fighting stance, prompting Niamh to do the same.</p><p>               “Talking about something that makes you angry helps as well. Something that makes you want to fight.” He threw a punch, and Niamh dodged, weaving to the side. “It also helps with processing. When you fight for real, things won’t be silent.” Niamh grunted, half in response and half as punctuation for a failed blow aimed at Adam’s shoulder.  She knew what he was saying made sense, but damn it, she was having enough trouble as it was. “What about your…coworker. The one the maa-alused attacked in your apartment.”</p><p>               Niamh stumbled as she moved again, her step backwards turning into a fall flat on her ass. The words hung in the air, and neither of the pair knew what to do with them for a split second, Niamh as startled by her response as Adam.</p><p>               “I’m sorry, we don’t need to talk about it.” Adam looked down at Niamh with slight concern,  offering a hand. She took it, and he helped pull her up from the forest floor.</p><p>               “No,” she said, brushing dirt from her butt and thighs, “no, it’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting you to ask, that’s all.” Unsure of what else to say, Niamh stepped back into fighting stance and raised her hands in front of her. Adam followed suit, though his eyes were wary, guarded. As Niamh threw her first punch, he spoke again.</p><p>               “Why is he like that, exactly?” He jerked to the side, avoiding Niamh’s fist, and pulled back into a spin, using the momentum of his movement to throw a punch. Niamh dropped and rolled, a bit more clumsily, and laughed tightly.</p><p>               “It’s complicated. But like I said, we used to be together.” Punch, dodge. “About five years ago.” Swipe, duck. “And he doesn’t let me forget it.” Kick, avoid. Adam and Niamh paced around each other, he searching for an opening, she just trying to catch her breath.</p><p>               “Why’s that?” Adam spoke as he moved, almost a blur, and Niamh was surprised at her own ability to dodge, though she felt the breeze of his hand as it passed her ear.</p><p>               “It’s a long story.” She spoke with gritted teeth, every part of her trying to concentrate on both Adam’s movements and his questions and not the memories that were bubbling up in the space behind every movement.</p><p>               “Training isn’t going to end any time soon.” The memories, though, felt like they might win the fight. Niamh paused, gathering her breath, and her eyes met Adam’s. Something there told her he wanted to know, not just to prod her, but so that he could understand. As she moved again, she began to speak, though the forest felt at least ten degrees colder.</p><p>               “We met in highschool. I’d just moved here from living with my grandparents over in Ireland. He was charming. He talked and I listened. It worked. We were friends.” Adam threw a punch, leaving his lower side exposed, and Niamh jabbed, almost landing a hit that time. “I went back to Ireland, to Galway, for university. We talked on and off, mostly about his journalism courses at Oregon State. I helped him with his assignments mostly. He’d email me a paper and ask for edits. Sometimes he asked about my own work.” As her fist grazed the side of Adam’s face, Niamh knew he was taking it easy on her, letting her land a few blows. “Graduation rolled around and before I knew it he was asking for a date when I got back to town.”</p><p>               Still, Adam’s definition of easy put Niamh through her paces. He listened to her speak, silent, intent. He kept his footwork simple, but even so, it felt like he was running circles around her. Frustration took hold, and Niamh swung wild. Adam swerved, grabbed her arm, and pulled her into a lock hold. After a moment, he released her and stepped back.</p><p>               “Start again. Keep going.” Niamh swallowed, but raised her fists all the same. Her movements felt heavier now, but she pushed on.</p><p>               “It just kind of…happened.” Her mind was screaming at her to stop talking. Adam didn’t want to hear this. It didn’t matter that he had asked. He was going to think she was weak. But she had started, and she couldn’t stop now. “I wasn’t sure if it was what I wanted, but he paid attention to me and he read my stuff. I was still writing for the blog at NUI but it was mostly personal stuff. Stories about…um…well, stories about family dynamics and the psychology of kids with distant parents. Or deceased parents.” The only things she saw were Adam’s fists. She threw punches, unsure of where they might land, uncaring, knowing he’d block her anyway. Talking was getting hard. “He already had a job at the Wayhaven Chronicle. I thought it was fine. I thought it was normal. There were times when I was really happy.”</p><p>               As she threw another punch, Adam closed his hand around her fist, fingers gentle despite the situation.</p><p>               “But?” When Niamh looked up at his face, she saw him looking at her, looking into her, brows furrowed, expression sad and eyes stormy. Niamh felt the adrenaline of the sparring session leave her limbs, and she wobbled in front of him, breathing hard. Whatever power had been behind her punches was turning into a tightness in the back of her throat, a prickling behind her eyes.</p><p>               “It started to go more downhill when I sent out applications for nearby papers. I mean, he’d always been—It had been a long time where ‘compliments were reserved for special occasions, so they mean more,’ but then he’d stopped giving them. Ever. He was irritated with me all the time. I’d make dinner at the—” her voice faltered, the words tripping in her mouth— “at our apartment, and he’d get home and it wasn’t what he wanted. And then he’d tell me I was stupid, and he wouldn’t talk to me until he came home the next day and it was fine again. And because I was biased, my own compliments meant nothing anymore.” Breath was elusive. But she had to keep speaking. “I had to say that I loved him, that he looked nice, that his writing was good, that he deserved the full spread for his stories. So it didn’t mean anything. The girls at the paper had more objective views. He stayed at work later, I wrote at home, and I applied for the Wayhaven Chronicle on a whim.”</p><p>               Adam placed his hands softly at Niamh’s shoulders and sat the both of them down on a nearby log. It was only then she realized she was unsteady, upset.</p><p>               “He was mad. Said he felt like he couldn’t have anything that was his own. But then I got the interview.”  She fell silent, unsure what to say next. She knew she’d been a fool, and no matter how many times she’d gone over everything in her head, she felt as though she should have figured it out sooner. Blindly, Niamh gazed at the forest floor, taking in nothing. “It’s been almost five years now. Longer than we were ever together. And yet it still—I’m not—” Adam’s voice pulled her back, brought her to face him.</p><p>               “Time means nothing to pain.” She looked at him, looked long and deeply, and tried to memorize his face without fully knowing why. Then she took a breath and continued.</p><p>               “I went to the interview. I didn’t tell him, he was already upset at me for something. And when I got there, I was looking through some of their special issues, and there was one of my pieces. With Bobby’s name above it. I thought it was a mistake, and then I went into the room, and the director, he…he wanted me to read some of the other stories. And there were all my stories.” Silence fell across them. The birdsongs were deafening, the rustling of leaves like thunder in the hot summer air. “There were excuses when he got home. He was mad I had gone behind his back. On the application. The interview. I—it—he told me that I wasn’t that good, and he’d edited them so much, and after all he’d done for me—but I’d read them. They were almost the same. He’d tried to keep me from going for the job, for any job, in case he was found out. In case his girlfriend found out they weren’t his stories. And…I think…because he liked having me for himself. No matter how miserable he made me.”</p><p>               Adam’s fingers were laced together, and as Niamh spoke, he looked down at them. A frown was set on his features, eyes almost leaden with greenish stormclouds. Niamh watched him, and when she spoke, the words felt like they were ripping themselves from her.</p><p>               “The whole time, I thought—I mean I thought he loved me. And because I was happy, because there were moments and there were memories where I was happy, that everything else was worth it. I mean, he got mad at me but he stayed, and I thought, I guess I thought that that meant that I should stay too. And I remembered the beginning, too, and I always felt like it was my own fault that he was mad at me. I’d somehow changed things. But I still thought he loved me.”</p><p>               “That’s not what love is.” Adam’s voice was measured, but something roiled beneath the surface of it. He still looked down, the frown unchanged.</p><p>               “What?” As Niamh spoke, he looked up. His words, when he spoke next, were taut with something, something that Niamh desperately wanted to know.</p><p>               “That’s not what love is. There may be misery. In love. But it—not that kind of misery.” Again, he looked away, hiding his face from Niamh’s gaze as though it might reveal too much. Still looking away, he asked her: “You said he doesn’t let you forget it. Why?” She laughed lightly, more out of habit than anything else.</p><p>               “Because I’m the one who ended things. I made a mistake, according to him. And one day I’ll see it. I’m only a good writer because of him.” Adam looked back to her, eyes boring deep into her own, lips slightly parted. His words were quiet, but filled with the same potency of a shout.</p><p>               "He’s wrong. He’s wrong about you. In every possible way. If he loved you, really loved you, he’d want you to succeed. He would want…” As though he’d been talking too quickly, moving too far forward, Adam stopped suddenly, biting off the next words. With frustration writ across his features, he swallowed heavily and stood, the motion abrupt. He paced about, searching for a new thread to pick up, and then finally found it. “Love isn’t about saving things for special occasions, or taking someone’s work or pain and passing it as your own. It isn’t about demanding affection. It isn’t about possessing someone. And I know you know. But Niamh, none of the ways he twisted love for his purposes are your fault.”</p><p>               Niamh knew she ought to respond, ought to say something, anything, but instead she simply looked at Adam, standing there, breathing heavily. She couldn’t think of any other words.</p><p>               “You deserve,” Adam was nearly whispering now, something choking his voice, “you deserve to be loved.” Niamh couldn’t break his gaze, couldn’t look away. The moment drew out and out, until the crunching of twigs heralded a visitor’s approach. Adam and Niamh turned to see Nate, stooped to guard against low-hanging branches and he closed in.</p><p>               “Adam, Niamh. There you are. I’ve been looking for you. Agent O’Driscoll wants to speak with you, Adam. I think it’s about the duty roster.” Reluctantly, Adam nodded.</p><p>               “You did well today,” was all he said to Niamh by way of parting, though there was something unsaid, perhaps unbidden, behind his eyes again. She watched him leave, lost in thought,  Nate’s presence next to her all but forgotten. Despite what it had felt like to talk, relief flooded though her now. She felt lighter.</p><p>               “Niamh?”</p><p>               “Hmm?” Nate’s voice yanked her back to the moment.</p><p>               “I was just saying, we don’t have to keep it up. It looks like Adam worked you pretty hard today.”</p><p>               “Oh. Right. Thanks, Nate.” Niamh stooped to pick up her water bottle, and then, with a smile, she and Nate headed back to the warehouse.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Time passes slower without you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>               Niamh didn’t think that the Agency was the type to throw sponsored parties. It threw her. Originally, she didn’t want to go. Parties and gatherings weren’t her thing. <em>I might have a knack with people,</em> she had thought, ruefully, <em>but only one-on-one. I’m useless in crowds. </em>And then Rebecca had specifically asked her to go, as a favor, and Niamh still didn’t want to go, but she did change her plans. And then, at the dreaded hour, just as Niamh was making her way to the social rooms with a painstaking and procrastinatory slowness, she had run into Adam.</p><p>               Niamh was taking the long way, made longer by stopping off at the library under the pretense that Nate had mentioned a book and she just had to find it so she wouldn’t forget. When she turned the corner into the row of shelves marked ‘Th – Tl’, she was surprised to find Adam there as well. In the light of the library lamps, his hair, still growing longer than it had been when they’d first met, was like burnished gold. The creases of his white button-down shirt were stark and crisp, matching those in his navy dress pants—an outfit that Niamh never would have pictured him in a few months ago. The thought of how handsome he looked made her mouth go dry and her heart pick up pace. He started when he saw her, though it didn’t seem to be out of surprise. Rather, he had an uncharacteristically sheepish look on his face as he pushed the spine of a book by a D. Theodorou back into place.</p><p>               “Adam! I—this is a surprise. I thought for sure—I mean, you’re never late for anything, so I guess I just didn’t expect…” He arched a brow at her as her voice trailed off, looked her up and down, and then ended up moving closer towards her, almost as though by habit. “Why aren’t you at the party?” A smile played across his features, fleeting as a sunbeam, and it took her breath away.</p><p>               “It may come as a surprise to you, but there are…sometimes…activities sponsored by the Agency that are not my favorite.” Niamh bit her lip, chewing at the slightly raw spot permanently left by her teeth, to keep from laughing or smiling in response. Truthfully, that wasn’t a surprise at all. “And as much as I understand the equinox fete is a chance to celebrate each team’s achievements, well,” he sighed, and seemed to be searching for a choice of words that weren’t quite so blunt as his usual choices. “Nate does seem to enjoy them, and he always tells me so, but I have to admit that such gatherings are not just a waste of time to me but also a rather tedious affair.” Clearly, he had given up on being less blunt. But Niamh found herself relieved. Knowing that Adam wasn’t exactly looking forward to the party either made her feel less alone, less awkward.</p><p>               “I thought I was going to be the only one,” she admitted, smiling a little, teeth still chewing at her lip. She let a beat pass, unsure of exactly how to phrase her question. “But, as we’re both expected to at least show up, I was thinking—only if you want to, of course—that we might head over together?” Niamh’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Adam’s face, saw the smile light his eyes, and then spread to his lips.</p><p>               “I suppose that would make it more bearable,” he said, and Niamh was caught almost completely off-guard. She blinked, and then ran her hand over her braided hair, and then decided that smiling was a normal response, and so, heart galloping in her chest, she did. “Shall we?” Adam moved his arm strangely—as though he had been about to offer it to Niamh, and then at the last minute panicked and drawn it back—but covered it by beckoning towards the door to the hallway. The walk to the social rooms passed strangely quickly as Adam asked Niamh about the current goings-on at the paper, and what exactly her job as a reporter entailed, and listened with thoughtful attention. Niamh was exceedingly sad when the buzz of chatter from the room up ahead began to encroach, and despite seeing Farah’s wave and Elidor’s smiling face, the feeling of discomfort and alienation descended onto her once more as Adam took his leave with the purpose of mingling with some higher-ups.</p><p>               “Perhaps I’ll see you later, however,” he said, a question on his voice as he tried to hide the longing palpable enough for him to taste on his tongue. It was hard, frustratingly hard, to pull himself from her presence—she made speaking easy, listening, effortless. Her occasional laugh, the way she drifted in and out of the remnants of her Irish brogue, her way of speaking with her neck and shoulders, made her a delight to talk to and watch. Already he mourned the loss of her company over the next several hours.</p><p>               A smile rolled across her features, and Niamh nodded. “If you have trouble finding me, I’ll probably be in the emptiest corner.” Hesitantly, she approached Elidor, throwing one last glance over her shoulder at Adam. On a whim, he headed to a table and picked up a glass of red wine, hoping that, perhaps, concentrating on the taste would not only dull the chatter of the room, but the desire to turn around and seek out Niamh.</p><p>               Time drug on, the pleasantries ever more tiresome. As the commanding agent of Unit Bravo, though, Adam was trapped by convention until he had made polite with all the other commanding agents. By the time he had finished, he was surprised to realize he had had—and enjoyed—two glasses of wine, but before long, a different thought caught his attention. He glanced about the room, still mostly full, searching for Niamh. He hadn’t been equivocating earlier, when he said she might make the party bearable: he wanted to lose himself in watching the way she moved as she spoke, in listening to the way her voice tilted upwards throughout her sentences, in her scent of lavender and bergamot.</p><p>               In a corner, dressed in a pale mint blouse tucked into fitted white dress slacks, he saw her, with the other members of Unit Bravo, as they socialized with other teams. She didn’t look as though she was struggling, exactly, but she didn’t look as lively as she had. By some miracle, Adam caught her eye, and watched her perk up. She smiled and waved, and Adam made his way over to her.</p><p>               “I was wondering where you’d gone. This party is…well, it’s nice, but it feels as though it’s lasting forever.” Her nose wrinkled slightly at the last word, shoulders shrugging up. Perhaps Adam would regret the easy socialization later, but now he felt at ease. He smiled softly down at her.</p><p>               “I know exactly what you mean. Though, I must say, it certainly feels as though time passes slower without you to talk to.” He watched her do a double take, brows knotting, eyes wide brown and confused, then hopeful, and, in a moment of boldness, he held her gaze. Slowly, blush spread over her cheeks, and she returned his smile.</p><p>               “If only it might stand still when you speak.”</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. You really want to go to that? Are you twelve?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>               Summer came abruptly to Wayhaven that year. It filled the little apartment with hot, humid air, and sent Niamh’s plants into overdrive. Little Fionna spent most of her time sleeping on the cool tile floor of the bathroom, tail occasionally flicking and whiskers twitching lazily. She meowed a few times when Adam or Niamh stepped over her to use the shower, but remained content to be dripped on and moved around during the day, curling up between them at night. For their part, Adam and Niamh spent most of their time at home with the lights off, sprawled over the sofa in the lightest clothing they owned.</p><p>               That day was especially hot and especially miserable, and Niamh grumpily slouched in front of the fan, leaning side to side as it pivoted about the room, doing her best to capture its breeze. Adam sat, shirtless in cargo shorts, on the sofa, idly flipping the pages of a book he was barely reading. With a sigh, Niamh pulled the strap of her tank-top up from where it had slipped down her shoulder and closed her eyes into the fan’s faint wind. Even just the tank-top and her underwear felt prickly, like sandpaper in the hot, wet air.</p><p>               “Adam, if we don’t go to the new waterpark in the city when it opens, I’m going to roast like a marshmallow.” She heard the faint rustling of pages stop, and then the book snapped shut and was set down on the coffee table. A bead of sweat collected at her temple, and then slid down her face as she turned her head. On the sofa, Adam had sat upright, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.</p><p>               “You really want to go to that? Are you twelve?” Niamh’s mouth dropped open in indignation and protest.</p><p>               “Just because you’re a vampire can’t mean you don’t feel the heat! And besides—” She paused as his mouth quirked up at the corner, twisted around so her body was facing his, and narrowed her eyes. “You’re teasing.” The quirk widened into a smile, and the façade cracked. “You really think it’s funny to be all ‘Mister-Stoneface Mc-no-fun, don’t you?” Adam shrugged, smile smug with the momentary success of fooling Niamh and irritating her enough to bring out the hint of her brogue.</p><p>               “Perhaps.” She wasn’t going to take this lying down, and, despite the heat, despite the desire to simply never move again, Niamh launched herself up and toward the sofa, within arm’s reach of a throw pillow, with which she promptly gave Adam a sound <em>whack. </em>He laughed and circled his arms around her waist, pulling her off-balance and onto his lap. She noticed with faint irritation that, though she was sticky with sweat, he was barely damp. “Perhaps I just like it when you tease back now, though.” In spite of how gross Niamh felt, Adam nuzzled his nose into her neck and kissed her there, just beneath and behind her ear. Blush spread across her face, heating her nose and ears to what she thought must have been scalding. But still Adam pressed tiny kisses, lips cool, against her skin, and she found herself melting into him.</p><p>               “Are you telling me if I had teased you that first day you walked into the office of the newspaper, that you’d have swept me off my feet?” A chuckle rumbled through Adam’s chest, and he pulled back.</p><p>               “If I’d been a smarter man then, yes, I’d have swept you off your feet regardless.” The blush intensified, spreading from Niamh’s cheeks down to flush her neck and chest. She found herself unable to hold Adam’s gaze, despite the way she suddenly didn’t mind how hot it was and how close together they were.</p><p>               “For someone who teased me about going to a waterpark a few minutes ago, you’re making it very hard to cool down.” Adam smiled more widely and then stood suddenly, holding Niamh in his arms as he did and laughing again when she yelped at the sudden movement upwards.</p><p>               “Time to take a shower, then,” he said in response, and Niamh knew there would be no cooling down any time soon.</p><p> </p>
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